SYOC: Diamonds in the Rough
by PrincessElectra25
Summary: In a small town like Edgewood, nothing spectacular is ever noticed by anyone except for one person. Jason De Vito has often knew he was destined to change lives, to make people passionate about music all over again and help dreams come true. So Jason decided to start the first ever Glee Club in St Halefield's High School and hopefully, it'll work. Hopefully. SYOC!
1. Chapter 1

**So my mother was right.**

**I am insane.**

**Writing a musical, a book series, four fanfictions (two on this account and two on the other), a Wattpad story, guitar lessons, piano lessons and extra math tuition will kill me.**

**Oh well.**

**Author's Note:** This is my first Glee fanfiction and it's an SYOC. I always wanted to started one so here I go. :) Now, this is the **PROLOGUE **so this isn't my normal word count of words I preferably like to write in a chapter.

**AND IF YOU SEE THE EMMA REFERENCE, I WANNA GIVE YOU A COOKIE.**

Speaking of which, I love Jane Austen more than cookies.

**COOKIES, JANE AUSTEN AND DISTRACTIONS ASIDE...I hope you enjoy the prologue!**

* * *

Jason De Vito, handsome, clever, and talented, with a happy disposition and a measly income job as a simple high school music teacher- a job that he had chosen and seemed to enjoy, a job that also simply confounded his friends and parents when they knew he could do much more to contribute to society instead of being a low-paying_ teacher_. He was from the small suburb of Edgewood, Maryland in Baltimore, teaching music at St Halefield's High school, and lived nearly twenty eight years in this world with very little to distress or vex him.

In spite of all good things, he had always felt stuck in this same little rut of getting up in the morning, making the average mundane coffee, driving to school, teach those little bastards who never really bothered learning anyway, return home, sleep and do everything again. He couldn't resist thinking to himself:_ this_ wasn't why he chose to become a teacher. It wasn't so he could feel this existential crisis looming upon him, like a dark cloud of mundane and dullness, where everything starts to be the same. He wanted to be a teacher; initially for the sake of inspiring teenagers today with music and filled them with an incorrigible zest for goals and dreams, a passion for music. Especially since students were so half-glass empty, sarcastic and dry now, tainted with the unfailingly inevitable crappy horrors of life. They were too young to be bitter, they were too young to be him- they still had their chances, which was why he set out on a promising path to remind them of their goals and dreams, and that they were, as ridiculous as it sounded, still achievable.

Lately, Jason De Vito had been watching clips on YouTube of show choir championships whenever he couldn't sleep and it filled him with an omnipotent idea of such craziness - _he_ should start a Glee club! He had heard stories of how members in other Glee Clubs managed to venture towards successful careers in the area of where they wished to be and how their dreams came true, making a name out there for themselves all because of Glee.

It would be hard, of course. He needed to asked the Principal...who he was not on good terms with. And obviously it would be a tad more than difficult to make the kids dress up into costumes and sing, especially if they might be accused of being transsexual or lame.

St Halefield's High School was purely a school entirely ruled over by the superiority of sports. Hell, there was even a lacrosse team- and they've gotten through Regionals. They were barely recognizable for their musical ability- if they had any. But Jason was affirmed he would be able to find some voices in the school- there were always a fair few willing and needed to be heard. And Glee club will help them come out of their boxes.

Thus a beautiful bubble of an idea formed in his mind.

Now, if only he could get a few members to sign up...

* * *

**FEW NOTES BEFORE YOU SKIP TOWARDS MY PROFILE FOR THE FORM.**

**-This is set in Edgewood, Maryland, Baltimore. Why? Because I'm currently obsessing over All Time Low and I thought I should place the location at their hometown. Can you blame me? Alex Gaskarth is supermegaawesomefoxyhot, 'kay?  
**

**-There is also a teacher's form and if you want to submit the Principal, go for it. I mean I _could _come up with a character for the Principal, go ahead.  
**

**-I will also need sub-major characters from rival Glee clubs, someone like Sebastian or Jesse. **

**-I am accepting a minimum of 12 and a maximum of 25. **

**-MAKE YOUR CHARACTER UNIQUE. **

**I don't want them to be just 'bitchy' or 'sweet and naive'. Make them mufti-lateral for fuck's sake. DETAILED PERSONALITIES WILL GIVE YOU MORE SCREEN TIME. Watch Skins or something- their characters are BRILLIANT. They have the most screwed-up characters and strangest, like let's say, androgynous Franky or Effy? I love Effy Stonem, plausibly more than oxygen.  
**

**-The results will be on my profile. **

**And I'm only accepting through PM.**

**To make sure you have read this, type 'Jasey Rae' as the title of your submission. **

**Love,**

**Electra. **


	2. Summer

**Before you explode your carrot top over my extreme lateness, firstly I am NOT dead, nor am I abandoning this story...it's just school's been a fucking hell. Literally.  
**

**And it's a long chapter...7,356 words!**

**The list is here:  
**

**Stella Rae Lancaster**

**Jordan Ford**

**Kendall Rose Torrison**

**Alexander James Laron**

**Iulia Thompson**

**Enrique Valentino**

**Duncan Chance**

**Andrew Christopher William**

**Laura Elise Michaels**

**Imogen Morgan**

**I've still got HEAPS of spots open. SO KEEP SUBMITTING! But I am super specific of which character, now I really want a Queen Bee type of character- someone similar to Quinn, if possible bitchier. And if you submit a teacher, it's guaranteed you'll get in. **

**I don't anything except for Stella! Shout out to My Chemical Romance for inspiration!  
**

* * *

Chapter 1

Summer

or

"Before"

_Kendall_

It was 31st of August, the day before school, at three thirty in the afternoon when I could've sworn I was legitimately dying from the heat.

Despite wearing the shortest crop top in my closet, sweat glistened on my back and made my dark hair stuck to my shirt. I laid on my bed, thinking that if I create no movement I'll feel cooler. To the surprise of absolutely nobody, I didn't.

I stared at the scenery outside the window. If it wasn't for the humidity, I would've enjoyed the weather outside. Robin blue sky stretched out in front of me- a pale blue portrait of fluffy white clouds with the sun radiating upon us like sparks of a cigarette. Edgewood was known for it's beachy facade and a port stop to local fishing boats. I would've gone to the beach, but I've been doing that for the past three months this holiday and I'm tired of getting sand up my ass.

I glanced at the battered guitar sitting on the corner of my cramped bedroom, tempted to play the out of tune strings but I thought of the effort it would require and how I was too lazy, hot and sticky to travel from my bed to that corner, pick up the guitar, go back and play- the heat, my friend, was a catalyst for procrastination.

I fidgeted with my phone and decided I should call Jordan- my best friend. We've been friends since I could remember. From what I know, our mothers met and then they were friends, thus were we. People often said it was odd I was best friends with a boy, a fact I don't find odd at all. I _hate_ hanging out with girls sometimes, purely because of the inevitable drama and how _shrieky_ they could be.

Besides, boys were much more fun to play sports with. They honestly never hold back.

I methodically dialled up his number and put it on speaker, waiting and humming as the line started to connect until I heard his voicemail bleeped through the intercom:

_"If I'm not answering I'm probably busy fucking someone, try again when I'm not occupied."_

Charming. I made a mental note to smack him up the head about his new voicemail.

I tried once again and then he picked up.

"'Sup, Kenny."

"First of all, it's _Kendall_. Second, nice new voicemail, jackass."

"What do you want, Kenny?" he asked, irritable. "I was busy."

"And I was bored." I rolled to the other side of her bed to check the time. It was nearing four. "Are you doing anything at the moment?"

"Hanging with the guys."

I jumped to her feet, suddenly interested. Jordan's friends were okay, I suppose, they were a bit perverted and say the most chaste things but then most guys do. It was definitely better than hanging around all day, which was exactly what I've been doing. "Can I come over?"

"We're heading to a party afterwards. Jess Mortera's throwing this huge bash at the back of his house, near the woods. Wanna come along?"

"Party?" I laughed, "On the night before school? Are you sure?"

I could practically hear Jordan rolling his eyes. "Doesn't necessarily mean it would have alcohol."

"I'm not afraid of the alcohol, I'm just afraid of what happens _during_ the intoxication and the results afterwards."

Jordan tutted, "You'll watch your drink, Kenny, you've always been a smart person."

"It's _Kendall_ and that's a lie!"

"I'll see you at Java Moose." He hung up on me and I sighed, throwing my phone down. Sometimes I really do hate that guy, but what would I do without him?

I crawled out of my spot that I've been lying at for the past few hours and made my way to my closet to get ready for the party.

* * *

_Alexander_

"But I'm able-I can work! I promise you- I'll brew coffee like a pro, I'll even clean the toilets!" I said, desperately endeavouring to sound chipper. From my previous experience, sounding like a perky cheerleader high on her Starbucks will get you on the good side of the people who you're coaxing to pay you.

Mr Kippers, the barista and shop manager, shook his head. "I told you, sonny, I'm all filled out, Alex. And I only hired those sixteen and above."

How unfair.

"But-"

"No, Alex, okay?" said Mr Kippers firmly. "I've said no yesterday, I said it today and I will say it again: no."

"I could look older," I argued, flattening my hair down and fixing my crooked collar. "I_ can_."

Mr Kippers gave me a stern look, seeming to get a bit annoyed. I could easily taken the hint. "Alex- as much as I like to give you a job, I can't. Boss policies."

"This is bullshit," I was starting to walk away. I stormed out of the Java Moose, making sure to slam the door as I strode out. Great. This was just brilliant- I lost another chance at a summer job. Although, the summer was about to end I was willing to make time to work, but quite literally _nobody_ was in the slightest bit keen in hiring.

Stupid, bloody town.

Sighing, I carried down the street in the sweltering heat. The sun burned onto the pavement and I squinted through the searing light as I strolled down the town centre, looking for shops who might be hiring.

Many of the students I recognized from school were there, but I had no resolve to go say hi, and they mostly occupied areas at the Java Moose- quite literally the teenage centre hub of the small town. Edgewood was the sort of place where everybody knew everybody, there was no escaping, no chances of anonymity- which could be great, if you were the type who was friendly and didn't mind neighbourly acquaintances with every face in time, but if you were anything like me, it was a town straight from a nightmare.

My stomach grumbled and I looked towards Seven Eleven with desire, and my hands went immediately to the crisp five dollar bill in my pocket my father gave me this morning before he left for work. Money was incredibly salvageable for me and I thought it'd be best if I just saved the money to help pay the bills for electricity or something. I snaked into the shop, nodding at the guy behind the counter who was noticeably tapping away on his phone.

I casually walked between the aisles and scanned the area for plausible security cameras. None. Guiltily, I shoved a packet of Oreos into my pocket and picked up a small fifty grams bag of raisins and went over to the cashier. If there's anything I learned from my experience of stealing was that if you were to go in, spent a questionable amount of time loitering around and not buy anything, you tend to look suspicious.

Once I paid for the raisins, I head out. I released a breath- that went well as expected thankfully.

"Hey, yo, Lexie!"

I whirled around and saw Skinhead Lafty, a member of the local gang Death Valley Kings- an entirely ridiculous and pretentious name in my own personal opinion, but he had come to know they weren't people to screw around with. Skinhead was wearing the expected leather jacket embroidered with sew-on patches of denim and grime and dirt coated on the grungy leather like sugar on a donut. Why he was wearing a leather jacket in thirty five degrees heat, I had no idea, but the reason of why Skinhead was approaching me frightened me more than the other.

"It's Alex," I said, trying not to sound annoyed in case I inadvertently pissed him off. "What's up?'

"I've got a job for ya," announced Skinhead, as if this was something to be immensely proud of.

"Really?" I raised my eyebrows. I've done some job for the Death Valley Kings before- admittedly, not my best moments but I had to for the money and it was one of those jobs who paid well and it wasn't anything too bad- it was more of moving stuff and guarding the view while they rob a house and everything, but I tried to stray away from them as best as possible. My dad can't have any knowledge of my contribution to the Kings, or not I could be A) arrested or B) grounded for life and I don't need to be anymore of a social pariah. "What is it?"

Skinhead Lafty smirked widened. "I need you to help me sell some things."

I got suspicious. "What things?"

"No questions, Lexie. Highly confidential, but it pays a hundred buck."

I nearly choked on my nonexistent saliva. "_One hundred_?!" That's much more than my father ever made in a week.

Lafty grinned, "You betcha."

"And I just need to help you sell something?"

"Yep."

"I'm sold. When do we go?"

"Right now."

"Well, what are we waiting for? Let's go."

Lafty slapped a hand on my back, "That's the spirit!"

* * *

_Iulia_

"I've ironed out your clothes for tomorrow," Lily told me as we traveled down the steps of my father's mansion. I nodded along, as I always did whenever Lily rambled on about these sort of things. Not that I'm ungrateful over the fact she's doing her job, I just don't see too much of a point on repeating the same things over again when the probability of the results would be identical, if not familiar. I've supposed she's just looking out for me- that fact, I know was true.

"Are you nervous?" asked Lily, "About starting public school?"

"No," I answered honestly, which was a rarity. In spite of the blistering heat outside I was cool, due to the blasting air conditioning my father preferred to kept on. I wore my black button military shorts, a simple white plain Ralph Lauren polo top along with expensive pearl encrusted slippers my mother got for me at the Phillipines on her short trip there. My signature Chanel black circle-framed glasses perched on my nose while the sun radiated onto the sundeck.

My mother, Harriet, was found suntanning on the lounges, being served martinis by the servants and looking obscenely relaxed while she did so.

"Mother," I said as a greeting as I approached her, politely as I could, "I was wondering if I may go into town for a while."

Harriet Thompson slid down her Oakley aviators slowly and gave her daughter a cold, _nice try_ look. Her blue, sharp eyes resembled those of her daughter. "You want your car back? Brilliant endeavour, Iulia, but it's never going to work."

A prickle of annoyance slithered up my neck. "I just need to buy a new set of golf balls. My last one had broken."

Harriet barely glanced from her magazine, "Why couldn't you use the chauffeur?"

"He's with father in England at the moment."

It wasn't necessarily a lie, neither was it necessarily the truth. In actual fact, my father was in London, but not the chauffeur.

Harriet sighed and watched me for a moment to observe me, trying to search my tongue for a lie. After a moment of internal debate, Harriet sighed. I knew she has trust issues with me ever since the drag racing incident, but it's been_ three_ months since I've even touched my Jaguar. Any more and I'll feel as if I'm compensating for murder. "Fine, go ahead. Lily, see to it she gets her keys. But no later than two hours!"

Excitement bubbled within me and I hastily made my way back into the house, my eagerness bouncing off my every step as I receded down to the underground basement. Lily handed me my beloved keys as I traced my hand along the sleek black exterior of my Jaguar F-type and climbed into the front seat.

I wore the leather driving gloves kept precise in the glove compartment by Lily and given by my father for my fourteenth birthday couple of years ago and adjusted my sunglasses in the rearview mirror. I gunned on my engine and the car roared to life. I grinned.

I stepped up on the pedal and the car shot away, Lily yelled something indistinct, most probably a reminder to be back at dinner, but it was lost in the wind.

This was my turf, my area of comfort and my place in the world.

The wind teased over my short hair, brushing up ice cold capricious kisses upon my skin. I adjusted the rear view mirror, slightly OCD about how my car was being kept during my incarceration from it. Cold blue eyes stared upon me and I smiled, a rare one, it stretched out upon my cupid lips- genuine and bizarre to see such a facial expression upon my face. This happiness was a statement over the catharsis after the past three months of literally no car.

I smoothly turned over to a corner out of the neighbourhood and thrived onto another section of Edgewood. It was slightly unfamiliar to me, partially because my parents never so much stepped onto these streets, much less knew it existed.

Edgewood, from what I've figured out, was separate into two economically-relevant classes. There was the Opulens, which was I figured what I was, and they were all close configured in houses on Cherry Street and Sheffield's Avenue. I found the people who lived upon there a bit dull, aesthetically speaking, they were all often the same. They were either rich fifty year old men chatting up barely legal beautiful women, or rich families throwing too much parties full of debaucheries and filthy wealth, which was fine- I mean I don't really care about it, but it's absolutely boring when it's all you ever see every single weekend.

The less-fortunate, no-Bentley owning lesser mortals were- as my mother puts it- the 'Paupers'. They were more diverse, in matter of mannerisms, and a whole lot more fun to observe. They go about, complaining on and on of their little, insignificant lives, working their way to a goal which will never do anything to improve their living conditions.

I prefer to look at people than do what everybody else do, I prefer to observe what they do, and wonder _why_ they do them. Most often than not, they were for stupid reasons and I guess, people were pretty stupid. Including me. Do I consider myself stupid? Well, maybe. Sometimes, there was a glimmer of interest that sparkled amongst the rest.

Once I cruised past the town centre, I drove on to where I found an empty stretch of road. Finally. Peace and quiet. I rode it to the start of the 'line', where an oak tree with a litter of pine nuts scattered across the grass was. I stretched my fingers, glanced in the rearview mirror to swipe my hair down and placed it on my steering wheel. My left foot hovered above the pedal and I set up a timer on my phone and it rested on my dashboard. I stared dead ahead to where the lone road sign stood, my goal.

Let's see what I can achieve in a hundred metres.

I pressed hard onto the pedal and the car shot out, just like a bullet being released from a gun with a trigger. The adrenaline rushed into me and I must've let out a crazy laugh once or twice. I passed the road sign in mere seconds and pulled my car into a smooth careening stop. I paused the timer immediately and smirked at my score. Five point forty five seconds. That has to be my new record.

I did it several times, hoping to top my score. Eventually, it began to grew dark and the sun started to set upon the sky, colouring the light/dark/purple/pink sky red and orange. A gentle breeze stirred the trees awake, making every blade of grass quiver in its wake. I glanced at the clock and nearly blanched. My mother will kill me.

I quickly went back into the neighbourhood of the Paupers, breaking the speed limit a bit to get home as fast as I could without ending up with the cops on my ass.

But when I turned into Armstrong street, I saw a wrecked car crashed into a street lamp. The wreckage was immense, with the chassis of the car dented and bent all over, the driver's door was torn out of its hinges and shattered into severed pieces, scattered all over the road. The street lamp had fell out and fallen over, thus blocking my way home.

I pulled over immediately and got out of the car. I ran over towards the damage, cautiously stepping through the glass and metal. I peered around, looking for casualties and saw a girl, unconscious, barely legal, my age and bleeding her head out. If it wasn't the impact that killed her already, it'd be bleeding out and from what I've read, it was the fastest death.

I'm half-tempted to leave her here. I've no idea who she was, I'm late and my mother will slaughter me if I don't return home any time soon and most probably I will not be allow to go _near _a car for the next century. But I'm also stuck in between the decision of calling the police. If I did, it'd meant hours and hours of explaining what happened and I cringed at the thought of spending another minute of my time at a police station. Well, I supposed I have to go with doing the 'right' thing, don't I?

Whipping out my smartphone, I dialled 911.

* * *

_Andrew_

It was the afternoon and Laura and I were watching shitty TV, purely because we were bored, and partly because it was too hot to move. Our relaxed sleepiness was interrupted when there was a knock at the door and I sat straight up (the most amount of movement I've attempt to make in the past several hours) and announced happily, "Pizza's here!"

Laura shot him a look with her ice blue eyes, "Does this mean you're gonna move?"

"Nope," I lay back onto my original position, "Just thought I'd let to know."

"I'll go," grumbled Laura, "But you're paying." She snatched his wallet from the bedside table before he could and he pouted.

"That's my hard earn money!"

"Oh please," she snorted, "Your mom gave you this."

I grinned and she opened the door. Jess Mortera, one of my 'friends', barged straight in, with a smirk and a six pack of beer. His dramatic entrance was slightly diminished by Laura's random greeting of "You're not pizza."

"Get up, fucker, we're going to make sure our perceived existence is clearly pronounced by downing ourselves in alcoholic plethora of shots tomorrow morning."

"You know_ not_ to use big words on me, Mortera, my intelligence have been wasted on watching too much reality TV."

As I spoke, I cracked open the beer he gave me and took a long sip. Laura approached, cutting in before Jess could launch into another meaningless debate of why the Kardashian reality television was the reason for the lack of hope in today's humanity.

"What are you doing here, Jess?" asked Laura, with a roll of her eyes. "Is it because your sluts have got bored of you?"

Jess smiled wanly, his blue eye sparkling, hardly fazed, "God, I do miss your witty banter, but girls are still interested. I'm free anytime you need me. Anyway, I'm here to invite you guys to the gathering we're hosting at my place. Liz's out for the weekend; might as well put it to good use?"

I stretched, "Who's going to be there?"

"Just our small group of people- you know, Stella, those guys. Maybe a few college buddies."

"Your parties _never_ work the way you want it to," I argued, "When you say 'small group' it turns into a huge chaotic blur and the entire Walking Dead turns up." 'Walking Dead' was the terminology we used to define the cheerleaders, jocks- basically the top of the chain cliques. While Jess, Laura and I...are, well, I really don't know. People who like band music? Whatever we are, we sure as hell are not them.

Of course, Laura and I have always been closed since...well, forever. And then Jess came along, having to just move a few months ago. I've always try to make him feel included and Jess had never expressed feelings of jealousy, plus he hung around Stella and went onto her wayward adventures, so I assumed he was fine with it. Also he kept himself occupied by occupying beds of his strings of nameless partners so he rolled with us when he wanted to and when we want to.

"Come on," crowed Jess, "It'd be fun. Drinking's never fun until you have friends."

"Where's Stella?"

"Buying the weed," he responded nonchalantly, "And it's not like you have anything to do for tonight, right?"

Laura shrugged, "He's got a point."

"Fine! We'll go," I laughed, "If it means that much to you."

"Aw," cooed Jess, placing his hands on his chest, with a bad faux falsetto, "You care."

I shoved him off, laughing, and stood from my seat, my joints aching from the copious amount of sudden movement after hours of a lethargic period of doing nothing. Finishing the last of my beer in a two large mouthful I've disposed into the bin.

Laura grabbed her boots from the corner and we headed for the door, our heads lighter than air and spirits filling the atmosphere.

It was until the very end of the party, things tilted out of control.

* * *

_Stella_

I was once told by my mother prostitutes never meant anything in their kisses.

So that was only_ one _similarity, I reflected gratefully, as I zipped up my shorts and glanced in the mirror to straighten out any hitches in my makeup. My mascara's was newly reapplied, there were no hints or smudges of lipstick on my face when the girl kissed me, mussing up the colour over my face, and my hair was combed, not ruffled and disorderly like it was before. And I didn't get paid, so there was only one similarity.

The bathroom door swung open and entered the girl in a towel. Her dark hair was wet and her eyes glimmered a soft grey. Her collarbone was marked, noticeably by bite marks tracing down her soft tan skin. I smirked, clearly remembering the feel of her velvety skin against mine. She seemed disappointed when she saw me clasping my bra back into place. "You're going already?" she asked, frowning.

I finally found my shirt underneath the bed and quickly wiggled into it. "I have to be somewhere." I pulled out deodorant from my bag and rolled it underneath my shirt. I scrambled around for my flip flops and reapplied my apple perfume onto myself to get the stale scent out of my skin. "I have to pick something up for a friend."

She pouted and leaned suggestively by the doorway. "But I'm better than a friend."

I laughed and approached her. I pulled her in for a quick kiss, my fingers pulling on her towel a bit, she started reaching for the buttons of my skin tight jeans and her kisses roaming towards somewhere further down when I stopped and pushed her away. I fondled with her wet strands of hair and her grey eyes looked hopefully to me. Oh God, she was one of _those_ types. Fuck. Was it that hard to find a girl who _doesn't_ look for a relationship? Are we that goddamn clingy?

I stepped a few paces away from her, "As much as I've enjoyed, Chrissy-"

"Cassie," she corrected.

"_Right_. Cassie," I forced a smile and pecked her on the cheek. Hopefully she'll take the hint. "I just really have to go." I distanced myself from her and went a few paces to find my belongings threw messily on to the night nightstand. "It's not your fault, it's mine."

"You haven't even given me your name."

I grabbed my bag from the nightstand and started towards the door. I gave her a half-smile, my green eyes lighting up like a flame for a cigarette and I thought of few of my aliases I often give my casual one-nighters at the top of my head and lied smoothly: "The name's Noel."

And I closed the door behind me.

Instantly, I took my phone from my bag and switched it on. Memories of last night's fraternity party at Maryland University swirled in my head like a proverbial vortex of love-drunk make-outs and meaningless sex at the back of somebody's bedroom. I liked this feeling- that feeling of relieved satisfaction after a hangover and blowing some steam. Especially after what happened before the party.

My inbox was filled already, with twenty eight missed-calls from my step-mother, Elaine, another fourteen from my brother, Zack, eleven from Holly and two from my father, and a text from Jess Mortera, who was probably calling me to remind me of collecting the weed.

I deleted all of those from my family and slid into the car I nicked off Elaine in temperament of our fight, which I was still undoubtedly pissed about. Elaine had no right to subjugate me...she wasn't my real mother, so she had no liberty of acting like a patriarchal (or in this case, matriarchal), patronising paradigm with a stick up her ass. I'm allowed to do what I pleased.

Lighting up a cigarette, I puffed a smoke into the air and watched the white clouds gathered together in a beautiful ascension of poison fog. I know eventually these things will kill me, but yet I can't stop. There's ironic beauty in how something could look so pure and innocent, yet killed thousands of life. It's a metaphor. I love metaphors infinitely.

I slotted in the key and gunned the Hyundai into life and begun onto the road. I dialled Jess's number and placed it on speaker phone, I'm immediately greeted by a cold and harsh receival:

"Finally. Where _were_ you?"

"Out."

He smirked, his lips quirking by the surface of his smartphone, and he knew me well enough to say: "Hangover?"

"Like an alcoholic preacher on a Sunday Morning."

"Maybe it's a sign saying you shouldn't drink so much, Lancaster," he suggested, "And that you shouldn't make it a lifetime goal to fuck the entire town before you're of legal age."

"If there's something you must understand about me, Jess, is that I'm a deeply unhappy person." I fake-lamented on the phone and continued on: "It's what keep me living. Isn't it what keeps us all living? Sex and Alcohol? The only reason why humanity haven't driven up the entire wall of suicide and tragic, young deaths."

I could practically hear Jess shaking his head, confused by my ambiguous answer. Most of times, they usually were. It was so fun to see their little foreheads frowning, trying to figure me out. Watching people was a bare minimum of entertainment, but playing them, I've learned, was much more productively fun than I ever thought it'd be.

He said, "Sometimes, I don't get you."

I didn't even think about what he said, I just responded, slightly muffled by the cigarette between my upper and lower lip, "That's the whole point. You're not supposed to get me."

"It's irritating. Stop speaking riddles. Nobody likes it."

"Why do you think I do it?" I turned into the drive-thru for Starbucks and waited behind the small Toyota to finish ordering. "Anyway, I thought we had a deal, Mortera. You stay out of my life, I do the same for you, and thus the commencement of this beautiful partnership."

I rolled down the window and the plum waitress boredly tapped on her computer, while she asked: "Welcome to Starbucks. May I take your order?"

"I like some coffee."

"Any specific type of coffee?"

"Black," I told her, "Like my soul."

The waitress gave me an odd look and I tried desperately not to burst out laughing, biting the insides of my cheek to retain my laughter. Jess sniggered aloud on the speaker and the lady sighed, keying in my order.

Five minutes later, I'm back on the the road and drinking the coffee while the Smiths played over the radio, and Jess was informing me of what to fetch and what to watch out for while picking up the stuff for the party. "The address is by the port, right?" I clarified.

"Yep. And you got the money?"

Now, it was my turn to roll my eyes. "Yes. You asked me twice yesterday. I've got _it_. We'll make shit loads of extra money by selling this at the party. Who else is coming?"

"The Walking Dead," snorted Jess, a sneer in his tone so prominent he could've been spitting the words, "The football team caught wind of the party and they're crashing."

"They're not _too_ bad. Particularly when they're not talking." I dropped the stub of the cigarette onto the road and lit up another. "How did they caught wind?"

"Duncan," Jess said irritably, "the piece of shit noticed how Liz was out of town for a few days and that Laura brought a few beer coolers earlier, so he invited the entire fucking team over."

"We'll put up with them," I said, not too bothered by the popularity and social norms of our school. I mean, they don't bother me and neither do I, so I'm fairly alright with them. "And plus, the merrier the better, right?"

Jess, who I knew does not like to admit defeat too often, grumbled. "I suppose."

"I'm near the port now so I'll talk to you later, okay?"

"'Kay." He hung up and I grabbed the wad of cash Jess gave me yesterday and stepped out of the car.

The Port is Edgewood's most infamous place to visit; it's where all the local fishing ships parked once they've gone out for the day and it's also where a small strip of cabana shops and baiting equipment sold by the front. In my orange tank top and shorts, I look like an innocent beach teenager.

By the bench of the creaky old playground, I saw two figures. One was tall, swooping, with a subtle stubble growing on his chin, and a dusty leather jacket lined with the words:** Death Valley Kings** boldly embroidered onto it. The other was a smaller size boy, with unpredictably curly short hair, and hazel eyes, waiting nervously with his feet tapping.

I approached them both and Dusty Leather Jacket rose from his seat, a grin splitting lecherously at his lips. I smiled innocently and he stuck out his hand for me to shake. His grip was firm and hard, though a bit too squeezing. "So where is it?" I asked.

"'A girl'?" smirked Dusty- whom I supposedly nickname 'Dusty', "You're the person he sent to pick it up?"

I took out a cigarette from the packet of Malboro Lights and lit it up, smoke curling from in between my fingers. I lifted my chin up, easing my face into a coy smile, "That's right." I brushed my hair out of my face, "Do you have it?"

"Touchy," Dusty grumbled and gestured to the smaller boy to come forward, who seemed petrified to inch closer to me. When the boy stood from the bench and came over, Dusty slapped a friendly hand onto him and put his arm around his shoulder like a best friend would, "This is my pal in training, Alex."

"Not I'm not," muttered Alex. He eyed her warily and shuffled his hands away from the curling cigarette. He didn't seem the gangster type, though, but I don't seem like the girl who frequently smoked and pick up drugs, either. Stereotypes could be misleading. He reached into his pocket and brought out a Ziplock bag worth of Marijuana. "Here it is."

"Great!" I exclaimed, raking through my hair, "Jess would be satisfied."

"Yes he will," Dusty promised, "But money first."

"How much?" I asked, fanning the wads of hundred dollar cash. Jess had warned me how these guys will cheat for extra money and it shouldn't cost more than a hundred dollars, so I will know how to bargain and deal with those kind of hooligans.

"Girls Next Door like you don't buy drugs," said Alex stupendously, as if thinking this was all an act.

I inhaled a drag, the cigarette hanging out from my lips as I laughed, "You're adorable," I shook my head, "This," I cradled my lit flame into the air like a prized possession, a ring, "help keep the mosquitos away." I turned back to Dusty with a renewed serious expression, "And don't bullshit me with that whole 'no profit' act. I know the limit shouldn't be more than a hundred bucks."

"Eighty-five," said Dusty solemnly, "See? No cheating."

I paid him the money and packed the tightly rolled-up Ziplock bag of marijuana into the pouch, waved goodbye at Alex, winking slyly while I walked away and driving off with my car.

I checked the time. Five o'clock. Plenty of time.

On the way to Jess's house, I stopped by Big Al's. It was a local mini mart, except for a little known fact that Jess and I knew it sell the best vodkas and that's not the best part- Al didn't gave a fuck about who he sold them to as long as the prize was paid. I've been going there for alcohol since I was thirteen.

I snatched several bottle off the shelves- well, the cheapest- and dumped them onto the counter. Big Al glanced up from his porn magazine and noticed me, a dusty smile settled on his lips at my familiar face, "Hey, Stelle," he greeted by my nickname and looked at the selection I've placed in front of him, "Any cigarettes?"

"Sure," I said absentmindedly, pouring several bills of paper from my wallet onto the counter.

After paying, I swung into the car and threw the bottles and packets of cigarettes onto the shotgun seat. The car roared into life and I drove straight on towards Jess's place for the party. I'm already half an hour late, which will result in Jess's being piss off at me, so I stepped up on the speed a bit.

Suddenly, my phone rang and I quickly took it from my bag, without looking at the caller ID, I pressed answer and held it to my ear.

Instantly, I heard an explosion.

"Stella Rae Lancaster!" Elaine screamed on the phone, "Where are you?! Do you know how _worried_ I was? Your father's been driving himself up the wall and going crazy, your brother has been trying to reach you-"

"I told you I was going out," I sighed, "Jesus, calm the fuck down."

"You said that a _week_ ago!" she shrilled hysterically, "You didn't come home for a week! Where did you go? You could've been dead and-"

"Stay out of my life," I said simply, "And I'm fine. Not dead, my ears are a bit damaged, but_ fine_. God, take a chill pill."

"Stella, this is still not accept-"

I hung up and dumped my phone onto the seat with the rest of my things, not bothered to hear the rest of Elaine's speech, of which I've heard a thousand times. I grabbed the bottle of cheap pink wine, and with many years of expertly trained methods, I popped the cork open. I swigged down several mouthfuls, earning a rush of mad inebriation coursing through my veins.

Why did Elaine always have to kill the mood by trying to control me? I veered a little of course, giggling, my hands were shaking on the steering wheel. I drank some more. What was her problem? Why couldn't she leave me alone?

The bottle was already half-empty, my lips tasted like horrible cheap wine, and my eyesight was starting to get a bit blurry. The alcohol that surged in my blood could've been red wine, it made everything fuzzy, but in no way dulling the anger I felt.

In front of me there was a stretch of empty roads, perfectly serene until I come barging in, driving at an illegal speed, intoxicated. I let out a crazy laugh, spinning around as I drank more, when a thought emerged in my mind.

I was speeding towards a tall, lone light pole. I had forgotten how to turn, swerve to avoid...maybe it was truly pointless. Not that I wanted to die, I just forgot why people fought so hard to maintain the things that broke the easiest. I forgot. Slip of the mind.

So I allowed the inevitable to happen.

And my world went black.

* * *

_Duncan_

"We're having a party tonight," I announced, returning with my refilled drink I got from the cute waiter behind the counter.

Enrique just sighed and gave me an exasperated look, while Jordan shrugged not looking too enthusiastic about the prospect.

"It'll be fun," I argued firmly, "Stop being such sad cases for once and loosen up. We're on the Football team, Jesus Christ, we're supposed to be cool, not the fucking marching band."

Jordan rolled his eyes, "You're so beautifully crude with your words."

"As if you could talk, Ford."

"Would it be safe?" asked Enrique, who was slightly disapproving they were heading to a party on a school night, "Will there be drugs?"

"It's Jess Mortera," Jordan told him, "Of course there's drugs."

"You're smart enough to say no," pointed out Duncan, "Come on, let's go have fun and get baked!"

"We_ do_ have fun," protested Enrique, "By ourselves. We don't need a party."

"Sitting at Starbucks and gawking at the cute waiter without making one move, whining about how pathetically single you are, Valentino, is not fun. Drowning your blood in vodka, getting off with a pretty girl/boy and puking down the back of the sofa cushion is fun."

"It is the last day of the summer holidays," surrendered Jordan, and he seemed thoughtful. "Kendall should come over."

"_That_ goody two-shoes?" I scoffed, "As if she'd go to a party."

Jordan's defenses went up immediately, "I'll persuade her in _ways_ you'll never know."

Enrique winced at the double-entrendre, "Don't ever say that again. Please, my mind had never been the same since the list of innuendos you've shown me."

I laughed, smirking, "Oh, Tino," I shook my head, "Your innocence is so beautifully shattered."

While Jordan went over to the side to speak to Kendall, Enrique and I finished the remaining food, disposed them by the trash and got ready to go.

It had been only two hours at the Mortera's Household Party and already everybody was smashed. Jordan found a pretty cheerleader by the name of Terri or Tessie, whatever her name was (at least it was what I thought the name was, somewhere along the lines; I'm pretty off my face during this entire mad haven and the empowering simplistic so-called 'dance' music wasn't helping my listening skills), who he was during questioning acts with in their shared room.

(And by questioning acts I meant they're making out and Jordan may or may not have stuffed his hands down her immensely short skirt. I'd sent Enrique to check on them, because there was no way in hell I was facing_ that_ scene without three or ten more drinks.)

Speaking of Enrique, I scanned the entire room looking for the poor guy because several of the Death Valley Kings skinheads had crashed and as much as I don't seem to care, I actually do. I saw him at the corner, with Jess Mortera himself, smoking a joint.

I walked towards them and flopped myself besides the two boys, bored out of my fucking mind.

"Hey," I greeted, ruffling Enrique's hair, "What's up, Valentino?"

"'Fine," said Enrique, muffled by the smoke in his mouth, "Want some?"

"I don't smoke."

Jess snorted, "Of course, you don't." His eyes were bloodshot and I could tell he was half a pint away from falling off his feet. He checked his phone and swore expletively, "Jesus, where the fuck is Stella? She has the weed _and_ my money."

"You allow Stella Lancaster to order you weed?" I raised an eyebrow, "That's not too wise."

"I was probably stoned when I asked her to do it," he shrugged, "and desperate."

"Desperate seemed more likely."

As I wasted away two more bottles of tequila, the party got wilder, more people came- invited or otherwise, Jess had went away with _two_ random college blondes who were pissed-out drunk while Enrique and I sat on the floor. God knew what time was it, as only a few stragglers remained, passed out over the floor and sofa, several had carried on the bedrooms. Jordan had been finally found, a hot pink bra tied over his head and lipstick smeared over his naked chest. Kendall, Jordan's childhood friend, was unsurprisingly and amazingly sober.

"I don't like to drink too much," said Kendall when she saw my expression, "I just merely danced and sit back to watch the weird ass shit you idiots do when you're inebriated."

Being the only non-drunk, poor Kendall got stuck with babysitting a white-girl wasted Jordan and what's-her-name cheerleader chick threw up into binge bag and helped him up onto his feet. And because I was a good friend who would spare Jordan of a tragic death on my conscience, I stabled Jordan properly on her feet, "Here, I'll bring him home," I offered but Kendall gave me a fierce glare.

"I live next door to him and besides, you're pretty drunk. Are you sure you want to drive?"

My jaw tightened, and though, I normally don't give in, this time I did. Kendall hauled her friend over to the front door, who was too busy playing with her hair and giggling like a little girl. They've gone away and I was about to head out when I heard a commotion exploding in the kitchens, "Fuck!" gasped Jess, who was on the phone, barely staggering on his feet.

I looked back, wondering what had happened, like maybe an expensive vase broke or something, "What happened?"

Jess's hands raked through his dark brown hair. "It's Stella. She crashed somewhere off the interstate," he growled, "And...she may have died."

* * *

**So yeah. Hope you enjoyed that.**

**Reviews are like Alex Gaskarth (preferably naked in my bed)!  
**


	3. Aftermath

**And it's a long chapter...7,333 words.  
**

**The list is here:  
**

**Stella Rae Lancaster**

**Jordan Ford**

**Kendall Rose Torrison**

**Alexander James Laron**

**Iulia Thompson**

**Enrique Valentino**

**Duncan Chance**

**Andrew Christopher William**

**Laura Elise Michaels**

**Imogen Morgan**

**Jacqueline Carmona**

**David Masao Cho**

**Teachers:**

**Peter Laron**

**Scarletta July Contalli**

**I've still got HEAPS of spots open. SO KEEP SUBMITTING! No more Queen Bees...I have more than enough. But I want ONE MORE cheerleader and I want her to be like the 'nice' cheerleader, trying to gain her way through the top of the circle. And a 'fan girl' like character, someone who is in his/her head with social networking, she or he must be a person who just walked out of Tumblr. I don't care for the gender, but I just thought it be really hilarious if this person started 'shipping' people in Glee together and they'll have _no _idea what she/he talking about. Another plus: more boys. You'll have more of a chance of making it through if you submit more boys- I'm still accepting girls, but reiterating my previous statement- MORE BOYS.  
**

**I don't anything except for Stella!  
**

* * *

Chapter 2

Aftermath

or

"What's My Age Again?"

_Imogen_

The aftermath of the party was horrendous to face. I woke up, upside down on somebody's house stairs, reeking of tequila and puke. I rubbed my bleary eyes, yawning, and my head pounding as if a boom box was playing in it. The sunlight streamed through the windows of Whoever-the-Fuck's house and birds twittered the window, making chirping noises you'll find on a nice summer day. It was murder to my poor ears. I untangled myself from the other waves of bodies and stared at the sun rays reflecting off the smashed glasses on the kitchen floor and it took five minutes for the realization to settle in that I was thoroughly- not literally- fucked.

_Fuck._

It was Monday- the first day of school.

A gasp tore from my throat. "Fuck!" I shouted out loud, probably stirring awake the entire house. Not entirely sorry, I scrambled around for my shoes, which were thrown outside the roof and made me wondered what exactly in the fucking hell was I_ doing_ last night…I was not in my right mind. Never mind my shoes...my keys. Where the fuck were my keys? I searched my denim shorts and relief flooded through me when I managed to feel my silver keys and my phone.

I checked my phone. I was seven thirty. School started around eight thirty-ish. I have an hour to make it back, get dressed and move my ass to the first day of school. I walked down the block, barefoot, ignoring the odd looks of questioning neighbours and shooting them the coldest looks so they stay away from me.

Then, I found my Honda parked two blocks away where I last left it last night and got in.

Once I've reached home, I ran down the driveway, stealthily vaulted through the locked fence and grabbed the steel ladder kept by the shed. I carried it, grunting and sagging under the weight a little, towards my open window and perched it onto the wall. I climbed it, quickly and cautiously as I could, and struggled into my window, swinging my left leg in. I hopped into my room, closed the window and shut the blinders.

I staggered into the bathroom to clean myself up and washed off the stale scent of tequila and alcohol-tainted vomit. I showered, scrubbed myself more than three times and doused myself in deodrant to get rid of the smell. I changed into my freshly laundered cheerleading uniform- purple, blue and gold are the colours of the uniform, which embraced the entire Baltimore 'Ravens' spirituality craze my school have, picked up my abandoned bag pack lying by the corner of my desk and headed out the door.

Downstairs, my adoptive family was already eating breakfast. With Richard at the head of the table, Sally's at his left side of his disposal and Leila's far away from them as possible, applying gloss on her already-glossy lips, I took a piece of toasted bread from the stack and started backtracking to the door, playing the part of a rushed teenager quite well (I thought I should've been congratulated in disguising the partying thing) until Richard interrupted my charade.

"Immie-" he started, but I shot him a glare and he went back to the start of his sentence, "Imogen, can you please sit down with the rest of your family?"

"I've to get to school," I said impatiently, shouldering my bag and biting off the crust. "Or not the Provost will chew my ass."

"Just for a few minutes," said her adoptive mother, Sara, feebly, "And besides, you need to fetch your sister to school."

I'm half-tempted to make a contradiction that Leila wasn't_ technically_ my sister, but it would've caused more complications and I just wanted to get out of here as fast as I could, so I obliged half-heartedly and sat down on the furthest seat. My adoptive parents exchanged furtive looks, a characteristic that often pissed me off.

"Look," I snapped, "I don't have much time, so tell me what you need to say so Leila and I can get to school."

"Well- it's just, you haven't been...communicating with us lately," Sally said, "And we're worried. You've been so rude to everybody lately…"

I rolled my eyes, "I'm rude _all_ the time. You should learn how to get used to it."

"But you've been worse than before," persisted Richard, "And you're taking it out on everybody-"

"Yeah, well," I interrupted, standing back up, not in the slightest bit willing to continue the conversation, "I'm a teenager. I'm angst-ridden, drama-infested, hormonal, crazy, bitchy teenager who hates everybody and everyone, so therefore that justifies everything. Now if you excuse me, I have to go to school- a misconception for hell- and face people I don't like. Come on, Leila."

I stormed out of the house, calls of my family narrowly escaped my ears, dancing from my brain. Leila trailed behind me, her bag pack swinging behind her, panting to catch up with me as we hopped into the car. I slotted my keys into ignition and gunned the car to life. I backed down the driveway, Leila being surprisingly quiet in the shotgun seat, and shot onto the road, quickly getting away from the house as fast as possible.

* * *

_3…2...1…_

My belly ached in the expected pain, my muscles contracting in pain as I finished the last of my sit ups, my head bobbing along to the poppy beat my iPod was blasting out. I hopped onto my feet, gasping and panting, and reached for the towel draped on the exercise bench. I wiped my forehead and my chest, then tossed it onto the bench and launched into thirty reps of jumping jacks.

"Come on, Leigh!" my personal trainer, Marianne, yelled, "Forty more seconds!"

I pushed myself to go faster, adrenaline and determination fueling my drive.

"Three, two and one!"

I jumped into a stop and pulled out the buds of my earphones, "How was that?"

Marianne's smile was full of sparkling teeth, "That was great. Same time, tomorrow?"

I picked up my towel from the bench, "Yep."

Marianne grabbed her duffel bag lying at the corner of the Bryant-Mckenzie gym, waved at me and headed out the door as I sat on the bench, trying to catch my breath. When I finally regained the normal rate of breathing and stopped resembling a winded buffalo, I stood up to examine myself, evaluating the tone muscles I've been building up and my tied-up long blonde hair. I smiled, my green eyes flashing in the light and let go of my hair, yanking out the hair tie and allowing my hair to fall through my shoulders.

Collecting my water bottle sitting besides the dumbbells and rolling up my earphones on my iPhone, I stepped out of the personal gym and began making my way back to the house- or mansion, if you want to describe it more accurately.

I ran up the circular staircase, walking across the upstairs foyer and passed the other bedrooms. As I checked my recent texts, scrolling through the newest Facebook status and favouritng Instagram pictures at a rapid pace, I entered my bedroom.

I got dressed into my cheerleading uniform, did a few jump splits to collect my 'cheer-essence' on and admired myself again in the mirror. Today was the day of the Captain Speech Day and I'll be the one who get the captain spot, not anybody else. I've worked too fucking hard to fall on the short side of the stick. I've been working out, going to regular spa treatments, eating less and trying to achieve my expectations of being the Queen of this school. What I expected was the best of the best- cheerleader, Queen, _perfect._ I needed to be perfect. And I deserve to be. I needed to be.

I stepped onto the weighing machine. 47.5 kilograms. My heart soared in anticipation- I managed to lose a few hundred grams since last night!

Happier than usual, I sat on the bench in front of my vanity mirror and started styling my hair into a high ponytail, applying my make-up with perfect dedication until I was rudely interrupted by my annoying sister who barged in, who had her face stuffing in peanut butter sandwiches. It consisted of all my concerted effort not to throw up at the sight. "It's almost time to go, Leigh, you can do your face later."

"Oh my god," I said, coating my lashes in masca, "Felicia, can't you just like not come in my room with _peanut_ butter? Don't you know my room have a strict no food policy? Or that I am on a strict no carb diet?"

"It's not like you're eating it."

"But still- it's _my_ room. And I'm almost done, God!"

"You haven't even eat breakfast," Felicia pointed out as I put down the mascara and searched through my lipgloss collection for my favourite peach-flavoured lip gloss.

"Breakfast?" I scoffed in ridicule, "It's 2014. Who the fuck eat breakfast nowadays?"

"...I do."

"Well, you're _you._" I dropped the lipgloss tube into my Aztec printed bag pack once I've finished and stood from my seat, fluffing out my hair in front of the mirror for the last of times. "I'm head cheerleader. I'm expected to look this way. You can afford to be fat."

"You're a bitch."

I flashed her a smile. "Nice girls win the battle, but bitches win the war. Now come on, I want to get to school as soon as possible. Jordan's waiting for me."

* * *

_Jordan_

"My head still fucking hurt. My body hurt. My eye hurt. God, it's so fucking_ bright_ in this school. Who controls the goddamn light here? It's made to scratch my fucking eyes out. Urgh."

Duncan was a perpetual whiner (and kind of a girl on PMS) whenever it comes to hangovers, which was understandable, but it's be driving _me_ insane and I have never felt such a compulsion to throttle the life out of him. Screw being the Alpha stream, I'll knock him into next week if it would shut him up.

"Told you not to do shots," Enrique advised knowledgeably. It earned him a filthy look from aforementioned boy and Enrique shook his head in response, somewhat amused by his friend's antics. "Will you be alright to do football tryouts?"

Duncan moaned. "It's today?! Why is it _today_?"

"Because you're the one who set it, you bastard," I snapped, annoyed as I grabbed my books from the locker and slammed it shut.

"Someone's grouchy."

"Well, _you_ would if you drank enough liquor to give you a fucking liver failure." I spun around, about to face Enrique when I got a face full of blonde hair in my face.

"Surprise!" Leighton squealed, jumping out of literally nowhere and nearly smacking my books out of my hands. "It's me!"

I smiled, genuinely happy and shocked to see her there. "Leigh, hey. Um, wow. Didn't see you there."

She rolled her eyes and flipped her blonde hair, "Of course you don't, silly," her voice twinkled with merriment, as her eyes glanced down critically at Enrique, who smiled at her, and squeezed my arm softly with her French-tipped nails and guided me away from my friends. "_Anyway,_ guess what?"

"Uh?"

"I've finally finished our outfit charts for Prom! It's all colour coordinated, matching corsages and tuxedos to dresses, with the details all in place. It's going to be ah-_mazing_ and you'll totes loves it," she promised, lacing her fingers through mine possessively.

Jacqueline, who was Leighton's best friend since grade school and was hanging behind her, laughed. "Jordan in a tuxedo? Damn. _I'll_ definitely love it."

I winked at her, "I think you prefer me without the tuxedo."

Jacqueline smirked. "Maybe."

Leighton did _not_ like that.

"Jackie," Leighton faked a smile, blinking falsely, "Where's your uniform?"

Jackie bristled, glaring upon the blonde girl. "In my gym bag. I've told you, Leigh."

"But I don't see it. Where is your uniform and why aren't you wearing it?"

"Because we don't have cheerleading practices until the end of school and I don't see the point of wearing it until then."

Leighton's eyes flashed dangerously for a moment, but then it was gone and I was sure I had imagine it. "Of course you don't," she said haughtily, tilting her head forward and making her loose blonde curls cascade past her shoulders. You can almost imagine a crown of icicles on the top of her head. "You settle for wearing less."

Jacqueline's green eyes glowed and burned with murder in her eyes, but sensing lashing comebacks and snide remarks, I intervened before it got out of hand: "Whoa, ladies," I joked, "Uniform or not, you guys still look hot."

Taking the hint that a fight was not what I wanted to see, Leighton barked out a forced good-humour laugh, "Of course," she slipped her arm around mine again, "It doesn't matter. Jackie can dress like a prostitute if she wants to. I'm just being a nit-picker perfectionist. You know me, Jordy, order_ must_ be maintained." She smirked at Jackie, winking.

Jackie looked as though she was about to slap Leighton when Duncan butted in, "Do you guys know what happened to Immie?"

"She's running a bit late," Leigh informed him, "Texted me when I was on the way over that she had a fight with her 'rents again."

"Why didn't she text me?" asked Jackie, frowning and reaching for her phone.

Leighton shrugged complacently, green eyes glistening. "Maybe she thought you weren't supposed to be in on the loop. Maybe she thought you weren't a person to confide it. Who knows? Ask her when she shows up."

If you haven't guessed, the popularity chain was like the fucking Royal French Court and the Constitution, whether it was officially unwritten or not, was needed to be obeyed. Leighton made sure everyone stuck to them or not, it was headed to the chopping block. The top three cheerleaders that formed the highest level of female aristocracy in our school were Leighton, Jackie and Immie, who were named by Leighton 'The Ladies of Bourbon'. Though Jackie and Leigh had been friends since the third grade, there was always some sort of parallel hatred and rivalry between the two. Leighton was blonde, sparkly lip-gloss and diamond necklaces- our version of Marie Antoinette or Lady Macbeth while Jackie was the black dresses, whiskey and late night...skirmishes at the back of your car.

The males are less Games of Thrones and much more amiable. Of course, Enrique, Duncan and I are pretty much competing for the Quarterback spot this year, but we kept it friendly and strictly on the field and the football streams of hierarchy were organized in Greek letters- the Alpha meaning Quarterback, the fullback and tailback as the Betas and so on. Last year, Duncan was Alpha, and every year our coach will hold a tryout game to see who was best for which. And this year, it'll be me.

Of course, being Alpha, you think Leighton would be interested in Duncan and she was- well, _tried_ to convince him in a relationship, but Duncan wasn't wanting any, so she moved on and we've been dating for a week. We've been on several dates and I know it was hardly the time, but I wished she was a bit more...real with me. I felt like as if even though we've talked a lot, I didn't knew what she was about except for sushi and cheerleading pyramids. But I was determined to make it work so I can prove Kendall that I could make a relationship last longer than a month.

"So," I said to Leigh, bursting out from my reverie, "Listen, I was thinking-"

"Hey guys," called Immie from the corner, running towards them in her cheerleading shoes, "Sorry, I'm late. I had to drop my sister off at the administration office and shit needed to be dealt at home. God, give me a hammer and I swear I would not hesitate it to drop on my parents faces."

"Understandable," simpered Leighton. She, then, tilted her head towards me and said, "What is it, Jordy?"

"I want you to meet my best friend."

She glanced at Duncan and Enrique and back at me, "Haven't I already met them?"

"She's different."

Leighton raised a perfectly plucked eyebrow. "She?"

"Kendall….you know, Kendall Torrison…"

No, Leighton did_ not_ know.

"Kendall who?"

"She's my best friend since...God, I don't even remember and since, well, we're becoming a serious I thought you guys should get to know each other," I said simply, and looked around the milling corridors of students rushing about to their lockers, sneakers rubbing and squeaking on the pavement floor, arrays of colours of bags and clothes blinding my eyesight to spot my friend Kendall over by her locker. "Hey, Kenny!"

Kendall glanced up and waved at me. I gestured at her to come over and she nodded, shouldering her bag as she crossed the assemblage of teenage hormonal bulls to where our group was clumping at.

"'Sup, Jayman," she high-fived me when she reached us, "Guess what? I've heard there's going to be a Glee club!"

"Oh my God," snickered Leighton, "They're starting _that_ up? God, what a catastrophe of an activity. It'll probably flopped in less than a week."

Kendall's grin dropped. "Who are you?"

Leighton kissed me on the cheek, catching me by surprise. "His girlfriend," she looked at Kendall's boy shorts and throw-on sweater and wrinkled her nose, "And you must be his best friend."

"Girlfriend?" Kendall's eyebrows knitted. "He never told me about you."

"That's because," I added in, "We've just started dating like last Friday. I was waiting for a surprise."

"_Aw,_" cooed Leighton, putting a hand on my shoulder. "Aren't you considerate?"

"Yeah," I said awkwardly, "I was hoping you two get to know each other because…well…"

"We're getting serious," finished Leighton firmly. "And that means, we'll-" she wagged her finger at Kendall, "-need to seriously go for some down time. Jackie, Immie, girls? Why don't we all go shopping after cheer practice with Kenny here?"

"It's Kendall."

"Whatever."

"Sure," shrugged Jackie, surveying Kendall with a small glint in her eyes she shared with Leighton and Immie, "I feel like I need to burn my wallet today."

"Shopping would be a relief from the time bomb at home," agreed Immie, with a shake of her head, "I want to max out my mother's credit card after all that shit she dumped."

Leighton turned to Kendall, "What do you say?"

"Um...shopping's not really my-"

"Oh come on, Kenny," I nudged her shoulder playfully, "You should go with them. You always said you wanted to know more of my friends and they are my friends-"

"Not me," singsonged Leighton, "Your 'friends' aren't those who know what you do in bed." She put an arm around Kendall, as if they were best of pals, but I've never seen Kendall looked so emotionally suffocated and tried to squirm out of Leighton's grip, but was too nice to decline from the taller, blonde girl, "And you_ have_ to go shopping with us so that you can spill every detail about Jordy's embarrassing secrets that he hasn't told me."

"You know what? On second thought-"

"Too late," crooned Leighton, "I know the people to ask from whenever I'm in need of blackmail material."

"That's not fair!" I protested.

"Whiner," laughed Enrique, "It's _not_ fair. God, what are you? On a menopause?'

"Fuck off!" I said, but I was laughing as well, "You girls don't have too much fun shopping, okay? Or not you'll leave us men dying of a heart attack."

Jacqueline arched an eyebrow. "Men?" she snorted, "More like pre-pubescent boys who never got laid."

Duncan gulped his shot of espresso down, "I beg to fucking differ, Carmona."

"Oh yeah?" Immie challenged, with a smirk, "With that amount of padding on?"

That caused a round of raucous laughter, especially around the girls. My heart wept with happiness, and the slightest amount of relief. At least, Kendall and Leighton were on okay terms, if possible even friendly terms and nobody got their social career destroyed yet.

_...Yet._

* * *

_Jess_

My back ached, cramped with the muscles seizing up unexpectedly when I woke up with my neck tilted upwards from trying to sleep comfortably on a hospital seat. I blinked and rubbed the stupor out of my eyes, yawning, as the smell of disinfectant and antiseptic haunt my nostrils and white sterile lights blinded my vision, and looked around. I was in the hospital...but for what? Then the recollections flooded in and the gasps escaped me- Stella!

I fumbled out of the seat, my joints creaking as I stood, and I saw Laura and Andy entering from the hospital's entrance and approaching me in the waiting room. Laura's purple-tipped hair was wet and she had only throw on a pair of skinny jeans and a Halestorm t-shirt and Andy in yesterday's version of a Blink 182 t-shirt and scruffy jeans.

"How is she?" asked Andy, breathless, "Have you heard anything? Are they saying anything?"

"Andy, relax," Laura rolled her eyes, but worry hinted in her tone. "Where's Stella?'

"In a room," I yawned, "She's sleeping. At least, that's what her doctor told me."

"What the_ hell_ happened anyway? asked Laura.

"She was in the car, drinking, not to mention carrying an opium den's worth of marijuana. So in less than a few words; she's fucked."

"Are the police looking in to this?"

I nodded and Andy groaned. Then Elaine, Stella's stepmother, came striding forward, exiting from Stella's hospital room, with dark circles under her eyes and a messy bed head. She looked as though she's been crying and my heart sped faster when she came over to us, looking as if Stella might've died. Stella was my friend- and I'm not going to let anything happen to her.

"How is she?" I asked immediately.

"She's fine," sniffled Elaine, "She'll live. No major broken bones. It's just I wished she stop doing this."

"What is the police saying?"

"That she tried to commit suicide," Elaine looked pained, as if she had considered that maybe Stella _wanted_ to die...and even if it was true, I had no trouble believing she would. "It's just...she's in trouble _again_. This is the fourth time this year. They said that she was in possession of marijuana and she was drinking…."

I nodded, trying not to look as guilty as I felt. If I haven't pushed Stella in buying the drugs, she wouldn't be driving. If I hadn't made her drove faster, she wouldn't have spun out of control with the car.

After Elaine had left, the doctors finally allowed friends to visit her. Andy, Laura and I sat on the plastic chairs of Stella's bedside. Her face was a mess, with stitches running down the side of her face and her lips matted with dry blood. Her leg was wrapped in a suspended cast. "Hey, Stelle," I said, my voice tight. I slipped a hand on her clawed hands and held it to her chest.

We stayed there until eight thirty, plainly because school was about to start and I originally wanted to ditch. Screw it, I mean- staying here with a half-dead friend of mine was sure as hell much more fun than being stuck in a classroom with people I don't like, nor do I want to be associated with.

But Laura had said that she was_ not_ going to get detention on the first day, even if she did despise everybody and everyone in the school and she had given Andy and I the Evil "Ten" which in my defense it's pretty fucking scary when you're on the receiving end of it.

So she dragged us to school by the scruff of our band shirts, pulled into my car, nearly killed in a mad scramble car chase to school but we still arrived ten minutes late and earned a full ear's of Miss Contaili's lecture when we tried to tip-toed past her into Italian's class, but she caught us before we could slipped casually into our seats.

I've managed to make it fifteen minutes into the lesson until I suddenly realized I was deprive of a smoke. Before you could look at me in that degrading, critical way, I thought on the whole I should be congratulated on actually putting up an effort to concentrate on the Italian vowels Miss Contalli had wrote on the board and I've avoided thinking about Stella's condition for almost the entire fifteen minutes.

Then, I spent the rest of the first period doodling on the corner of the desk with a black Sharpie until the bell rang, signifying our classes to end.

Miss Contalli's sighed. "Oh well. We'll finish this worksheet by next lesson. I'll see you next Thursday."

And then, I was out of there.

I was about to skive off school, simply by following a trail Stella and I had often took whenever we were bored when a hand grabbed me on my wrist and tugged me from exiting the back door and slither away from the prying eyes of the peers I despised.

"Where do you think you're going?" a coy, sarcastic voice said, pressing her lips on my ear. "Skipping school on the first day? Not too high-school spirit, isn't it?"

It was Jacqueline Carmona.

Her bright green eyes beamed of an expression of coy, diminished innocence and were done-up in it's typical cat liner, her dark hair let loose down to her back in soft waves and her full lips covered in a red lipstick that was reminiscent of a stripper I once met in Maryland. Though she was a cheerleader of the school, Jackie refused to parade around the school in her uniform like the rest of her team, or more specifically, carry out orders from the Queen, Leighton Mckenzie. Instead, she dressed herself up today in a short mini skirt and a denim jacket draped over a tight black shirt.

Well, fuck.

"What do you want, Jackie?"

"World Peace," she smirked. Goddamn complacent bitch, that one. "So where's the other one- Stella, isn't it? Great partier, by the way, but horrid driver."

I rolled my eyes, though I wear an expression of controlled smugness. I looked around the shelves of toilet paper, and even if I already knew the answer, I asked: "Is there any reason for the broom closet?"

She slipped off her jacket and dropped it to the floor. "I was bored."

"Ah." A simple beat. "I see."

"Well?"

"I'm that cure for your boredom?"

She pouted, "I don't want to suffer Mr Laron for the next hour or so. I much rather be…"

"Ah." I played with the straps of her tank top, "You're lucky I'm bored too."

"When are you never?"

"Whenever I'm occupied. In more ways than one."

She winced, "Oooh...bad joke. You're lucky you're cute, Mortera."

"You know you love the innuendos. All your friends do." I ripped off her top by tearing apart the straps and tossed the shredded top onto the floor with her jacket, which caused her to flush red and slapped my hand. I flinched away and glared at her, angry. "What was that for?"

"That was three hundred dollars," she hissed, all pissy. "I fucking paid that with my own hard-earn money, you fucker."

Females, honestly. One minute they're all over you, the next they dumped you like last season's designer bags. Make up your fucking mind, Jesus Christ. Either you want it or not.

I grabbed her hand and led it's way to the buckle of my jeans, my grin caught in her ear as I pulled her close and kiss her neck to her jaw. She tried to squirm away to show that she had not forgiven me, but I knew I was just pressing her buttons to get some fun out of her. I tickled her flat belly and I dragged her legs to wrap around me. I glanced deep in her dilated green eyes, which were brighter in the dim cupboard than they ever were out of it and she sucked in a warm breath. "You're an asshole," she mumbled, "A real fucking asshole."

I swung her around to stable her properly on the third shelf of the broom closet and returned her the same smirk she wore previously. "Tell me something I don't know."

* * *

_David_

My fingers lingered on the collars of my blazer as I searched the mirror for mistakes that needed to be corrected or errors and _Chocolate_ by the 1975 played on the headphones inserted into my ears. I rubbed my left eye, the one which was visually impaired, as my almond brown eyes trailed from my dark hair to the wrinkle on one of my button downs and I flattened it out and flicked the dust off my pastel pants before spinning around on the heels of my feet to exit out of the boys bathroom and into the total chaos of the school.

The bell has rung a few minutes ago and everybody was running towards their extracurriculars as though it was the end of the world. I had to swerve and duck to avoid being killed, of course, but I thought it was kind of nice to see so many people have genuine excitement in activities, or maybe they're just trying not to get into trouble with the dictators of their activities. The latter seemed more likely.

I made my way to my locker and swung the dials open to collect the newest pile of homework the teachers decided to kill us with when the crowds of students began to disperse, along with the rowdy noise of conversation. Soon, it was just me and several of the newspaper club kids shuffling around with their notebooks and pens by the drinking fountain. Rolling my earphones and keeping it in my pocket, I took out my phone and saw that my mother, Nicole, was waiting for me already outside of school with Rhiannon in the car.

The only sounds was someone gurgling down water and sneakers being rubbed along the pavement floor. While I forced my binders into the satchel, I thought at first it was my imagination, but it was simply too tangible to be a figment of the unrealistic.

I could hear a guitar being strummed and a voice that followed later, soft and high, reminiscent of Ellie Goulding's voice:

"_Call it magic_

_Call it true_

_Call it magic_

_When I'm with you_

_And I just got broken_

_Broken into two_

_Still I call it magic_

_When I'm next to you…_"

Intrigued, I walked over to where the sound was coming from- the choir room by the block of English classroom.

It was a girl, her hair and skin was dark, her acoustic black guitar harmonizing with the words she delivered to a teacher, who I recognized was Mr De Vito, and a boy in a letterman jacket, and I peered into the window space in the door as she launched into another verse:

"_And I don't, and I don't and I don't, and I don't_

_No, I don't,_

_It's true_

_I don't, no, I don't, no, I don't, no, I don't want anybody else but you_

_I don't, no, I don't, no, I don't, no, I don't_

_No, I don't,_

_It's true_

_I don't, no, I don't, no, I don't, no, I don't want anybody else but you…_"

The only instrument that accompanied her voice was the guitar, so it was an honest-to-God stripped down version of the song. Mr De Vito had a smile on, nodding to the rhythm she created with every pick she did on the top string:

_"Wanna fall_

_I fall so far_

_I wanna fall_

_I fall so hard_

_And I call it magic_

_And I call it true_

_I call it magic_

_And if you were to ask me_

_After all that we've been through_

_Still believe in magic_

_Oh yes I do_

_Oh yes I do_

_Yes I do_

_Oh yes I do_

_Of course I do…"_

She strummed the last chord and grinned, "Thank you."

As I was about to walk away, Mr De Vito caught me before I could properly leave and lit up, "Hey, David!"

I spun around and Mr De Vito was striding up towards me, beaming. "Hi, Mr De Vito," I greeted amiably.

"Are you interested?" asked Mr De Vito, "It's a Glee club- you know, show choir and all that."

"Cool," I said, keeping my tone delightfully polite, "But I'm afraid I can't. I need to run the bar for my dad after school so my schedule is unfortunately quite taxing…"

"Oh," the smile slid off his face momentarily, until it invigorated with a genuine apologetic one, "That's understandable. Oh and can you tell your mother the staff's meeting for this week is cancelled."

I nodded, "It's not a problem."

He returned back to the choir room and I went the other direction to where my mother was waiting for me outside.

"How was your day, David?" asked Nicole, when I climbed into the shotgun seat of her 1985 Mustang, and her favourite band Ladyhawke was once again playing over the stereo. Rhiannon was at the back of the car, with her head buried in a book, out of the world and into a fantasy world much better than the real one.

"It was fine. Math was a horrendous failure, as always, and Mr Tenor was feeling utterly cruel today by giving us three pages of calculus to finish by tomorrow…"

My mother laughed, "Mr Tenor is a pusher; he's just trying to get the best out of today's plummeting generation."

I gave her one of my _are you serious_ looks. "_Mom_."

"I love you too," she said jovially, "I'm deciding to cook today."

Rhiannon glanced up and the expression she displayed couldn't be more horrified, "You're _cooking_?"

"This is one of the rare times where I chose to showcase my domesticity so you might as well let me enjoy it as I can."

I asked, "What you're making?"

"Something with rice," answered my mother, "And if it's awful, you two are obliged to smile and pretend that it is the most delicious concoction you've ever tasted."

"It's your food to waste."

My mother just smiled and smoothly turned into the parking lot of their apartment block.

The apartment my parents had bought was an old vintage loft upstairs of my father's jazz bar/cafe: _Don't Look Back at the Window_ completed with red worn brick walls, cedar-beamed ceilings and oak wood floors that always smelled of herb spices. We entered the living room and immediately the bags were thrown casually onto the stuffed brown leather couches, with large French glass-stained windows and books populating the cubby holes of black bookshelves besides the fireplace.

After my father had ordered Chinese takeout (albeit my mother had gave up with trying to stir fry the vegetables because of several malfunctions), we all sat around the worn rectangle table on the weave black chairs and the routine late night conversation occured, as expected.

My father sat besides my mother and Rhiannon was next to me, but if Danny was still around my father would've dominated at the patriarchal head of the middle and Rhiannon would be with my mother and Danny would've been by my side. Guilt formed a lump in my throat and I forced it down as I picked up my spoon and began eating.

I've managed_ not_ to think about Danny for the past three days...I wasn't diving into the swirl of depression and grief again. And I was not going to start now, so in an effort to distract myself, I immersed myself into the deliberation around me.

My father and my mother was discussing the newest art gallery opening at Thames street, while my sister chimed in by saying how she heard that one of the artists in her clay spinning classes had their works features in the gallery. If Danny was here, he would've changed the subject instantly by speeding into how football tryouts were that day.

"So Jason De Vito is opening a Glee Club this year," my mother mentioned while twirling her noodles expertly with her chopsticks, "Are you two thinking about signing up? David?" Her brown eyes seemed particularly focused onto him.

"I don't know," I shrugged, "I mean, I already promised Dad I run the cafe in the afternoons…"

"I can always find someone else," said Robin, pushing his wired glasses up his nose. "I think it's a great idea- all about expressing the art, you two. Glee Club is brilliant exposure towards the ill-normalcy."

"Dad, it's show choir," said Rhiannon, "Not mime-club."

"Rhiannon."

"Sorry, Mom."

"But I agree with your father, David. Glee Club can be a place to meet new people, experience brand new things, express yourself…" _Forget about Danny_.

My parents, as much as I love them, were the worst people when it comes to subtlety.

"Alright," I sighed, "I'll do it. I'll join Glee Club."

* * *

Jacqueline

"Arms up! Get yours arms high up! I said arms up!" screamed Leighton, "God fucking dammit, arms up! You know what? Fuck it! Shut the music!" The poppy beat resumed playing over the speakers until Leighton threw the speaker phone into the boombox and the music stopped.

"What the_ fuck_ was that? That was horseshit, you dumb ass motherfuckers. Keep your fucking arms up in the pyramids or are you deaf in hearing fucking instructions? Answer me now! _ARE YOU DEAF?!"_

"No," the cheer squad mumbled pathetically, practically cowering in fear of their captain.

It had been two hours since the start of their first day practice and they've been going around in circles in this routine Leighton put together over the summer for ages, but no one could produce a single proper pyramid and it was driving Leighton to the brink of hysterics. Insane acts like these are probably what would cause her to lose the Captain Vote tomorrow and install me as proper Queen of the school, just like I should've in the first place. That bitch had been sitting on my throne for far too long.

Leighton rested her palm on her forehead, "I do not understand what is wrong with all of you. All of you sucked," she folded her arms, "you sucked_ ass_. In fact, you gone so far past sucking, you're practically licking the hole. This is a fucking travesty. I'm calling a five minutes break and in that five minutes break, I hope you take the time to realize how bad_ that_ was and how much your dignity deserve to have it's head on a pike and crows feasting on its entrails."

Well, you have to give her points for_ that_ vivid description.

We all disbanded to the bench where the water cooler was and tables of 100% glucose wheat snacks were laid and instantly, it was already filled with people fighting to the death for the first in line. I shook my head and grabbed my water bottle from my sports duffel bag. You think they would've known better and brought their water this time.

Leighton trailed behind me, with Immie sighing and panting. "We're not going to even qualify for finals this year," growled Leighton, pouring water on her chest. "We can't do a fucking pyramid. They can't do the routine for shit. We're going to look like fucking _losers_."

I rolled my eyes. Leighton was always ridiculously and comically melodramatic, but I kept my mouth shut from insulting her, knowing that it would only caused further conflict and more stress on her. Immie was stretching, pulling her long legs above her head and tensing her muscles to brace herself for another set of mind-boggling drills Leighton will make the team do until they fall from exhaustion.

"Why don't we just try tomorrow," I offered, not caring if I offended her, "And go straight to Captain Ballots."

Leighton considered it until she nodded. Finally. "Alright," she said tersely, "We'll run the routine tomorrow. Come on, let's get these losers back into the gym."

They've rounded the weary-looking cheerleaders and headed inside where air-conditioning was blowing, cooling the slick sweat on everybody's exhausted ordered them to sit on the bleachers while we flanked her left and right and stared upon the team while Leighton paced up front, frowning.

"Tomorrow we'll do the routine," said Leighton, her voice echoing through the gym. "Now we'll do the Captain Ballots."

For those who aren't aware, status in our school is a hierarchy and even_ that_ hierarchy was a hierarchy...a hierarchy within a hierarchy. Where your friends won't hesitate to stab you in the back for power, for fame within the school halls, and if you let your walls down once, those bitches will smack you back to the end of the caste._ Fly or fall, you never know how it hurts until you hit the floor_- that was the mantra of our cheerleading motto, the mantra Leighton built between the Ladies of Bourbon. It was do or die. It's been two years and I've learned how to survive fine; after all, I've always landed on my feet.

"If any of you are new, the Captain Ballots are an annual tradition hosted within the team every single year at the beginning of the school year to allocate the team's captain. It is a democracy that takes place because we are interested to see what you slackers can offer as leaders. Of course," added Leighton scathingly, "None of you ever have _much_ to offer considering how bad that last practice was. Now, Immie, can you get the bowl?"

Immie handed her the glass fish bowl converted into a box where the name of this year's Falcons team sat at the bottom. I twisted my fingers behind my back as Leighton's french tips gracefully picked the slip of paper and brought it out of the bowl. She unrolled the paper and her eyes seemed to dimmer and my heart sped faster.

"The Falcon's Captain of 2014 is…"

* * *

**CLIFFHANGER!  
**

**...don't kill me. If you don't see your character yet, don't freak out- you'll be featured next chapter. I actually like this chapter- and I've TONS of great ideas for the story. You've seen both sides of the school already- one which are the partying, smoking, slightly suicidal group of best friends who like 'band' music and the other is the glossy facade of the Inner Circle, which I modeled after the Royal French Court as you noticed many of my French Court references. **

**So I hoped I've portrayed the characters the way you guys want it to be. Tell me your favourites from this chapter and the previous one. And PLEASE REVIEW.**

**-Electra.**


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